Birds of a Feather
by Sorceress
Summary: I'm not very good at titles, and even worse at summaries. Told partly from the PoV of a Paperboy, two Police Officers, a Librarian, a lady trimming her hedge, a jogger, a Bookstore Assistant, an old man feeding pigeons and a cat. HARMLESS FLUFF. Reading t


The rows of dreary houses on Privet Drive was basking in the dawn light creeping over the horizion

Warning – there is no moral to this story. No underlying message. No hidden meanings. Just harmless fluff.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Liz turned up the volume of her Walkman and huffed her way along Privet Drive. 

Resplendent in highlighter green and black Spandex, she pounded furiously along the footpath of the subdivision street. Picket fences flashed past as she jogged by number thirteen.

She raised a hand to wave at the old lady across the road in number fourteen. The old woman was, as always, in her dressing gown, a deep purple velvet number that looked like Graduation robes. She was ancient, Liz thought, but in good shape, with long, white hair that streamed around her shoulders, giving her a somewhat gypsy-ish look. Even though she was as old as the hills, she had an air of importance around her, and stood proudly, almost regally. Hope I look that good when I'm old, Liz thought, and resumed listening to _Queen_ on her Walkman.

About three cats prowled around the old lady's thin, skeletal ankles as she poured a platter of milk and biscuits out on her front doorstep. The old woman smiled, and waved back to Liz as she strode by, ponytail bouncing around madly.

The frail old woman stroked Ashy, a grey tabby cat with thick fur as it lovingly rubbed his head around her legs. Picking the fat cat up into her arms, she stroked it with old, trembling fingers, while looking at a seemingly peaceful two-story brick house across the road. 12 Privet Drive. Ashy pressed his head contentedly into the woman's shoulder, and purred like a small engine. The old lady tickled his chin, transferring all Ashy's weight onto one arm, and drew from the pocket of her robes her wand.

Ashy hissed slightly as he saw the wand – he didn't like magic.

"Pernosco!" the old lady said quietly, her wand pointing at the house. There was a slight blue glow, and Ashy gave a start and dug his claws into the old lady's arm with a feline yowl.

The old lady, relieved, put her wand back in her pocket and comforted the distressed cat. 

The Lateo Conspicio Charm was still working well, she was relieved to see.

Arabella turned and walked back into her house, cats following like an extension of her body.

A few minutes later, the rows of dreary houses on Privet Drive was basking in the dawn light creeping over the horizon. Weak, warm rays did nothing to the lingering night chill as the chain on the front door or No. 13 was carefully slid across, and the deadbolt clinked back. The door opened slowly, hesitantly, without a squeak or creak, and a boy slid, ghostlike, out the door, shutting it and locking it again behind him.

He looked like an ordinary boy, in a blue hooded sweatshirt and dark, rather baggy denim jeans. His ink-black hair was spiked dramatically, and his eyes were a brilliant green.

He gave No. 14 Privet Drive a customary glance as he walked off down the path before turning left and starting the long walk into town.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Two hours later, the boy was sitting on a bench, watching with interest people in business suits scurry past, clutching briefcases, and shop assistants unlock the front doors of their shops and open up for business.

He was seated quite comfortably on the wooden bench, leaning on the raised flower beds, his feet tucked up beside him.

Katrina glimpsed the boy as she typed in the code to open up the bookstore. The boy had been sitting on that same seat every morning for the whole summer holidays since school broke up. Wearing the same, obviously expensive clothes, and just watching people. He seemed harmless enough, but it was seven AM on a Tuesday morning, for goodness sakes! A fifteen-year old boy should be sleeping in till eleven, or noon in the holidays, not sitting on a public bench on the main street of -----------!

Katrina, or Kat, as she preferred, had approached the boy after the sixth or seventh morning and asked him if there was anything she could do for him. He had just smiled back at her, a lovely, sweet smile, and told her very politely thanks, but he was fine.

And it seemed like he was. He didn't have black eyes, or cuts and grazes that would indicate child abuse or rough treatment. Nice clothes said he was well off, but the fact he only ever wore one jacket and one pair of jeans contradicted that. He seemed perfectly fine. Then why was he sitting on a public bench every morning at seven AM?

Kat shook her head and opened the door to Browsers Bookstore, walking in and flicking on the lights.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The boy was still sitting there at eight AM when Kat went to the front door to put the signs out the front, and flick the 'Closed' sign to 'Open.' She couldn't help looking at him, curled up on the bench, and she received a small shock when he looked at her and winked. Embarrassed, she went back inside.

Kat noticed he was gone by nine. Curious, she trotted up to the display windows and peered out and around the street. There. She spotted a thin figure in a blue jersey walking up the steps of the Public Library as the Library Assistant latched the doors back. Thinking carefully, she went back to the cash register to serve a customer, PC Christopher Donaldson.

"What 'choo looking at, Kat?" Chris asked, grinning at Kat, whom he had a rather large crush on.

"Just that boy." Kat replied, ringing up the total on the register. 

"Who?"

Kat gestured to the window, trying not to look PC Donaldson in the eye. If she did, Kat knew she would blush. PC Donaldson was a year older than her, and they had attended primary school together.

"That boy in the blue top. Every morning, Monday to Sunday, he's out sitting on that bench at seven in the morning. And then he goes to the Library when it opens. Sad case." Kat replied, carefully studying the price tags.

Chris scratched his head, frowning. "Every morning? For how long?"

"Every morning since school broke up He looks about fifteen. Ask anyone around here, they'll all tell you the same."

"Causing any trouble?" Chris asked, trying to sound important in front of Kat.

"No, no." Kat quickly assured him, the cash register trilling away happily. "It's just…" 

Kat had a sudden rush of bravery, and she charged on recklessly. 

"I'd really appreciate it if you would keep an eye out for him." She said squarely, dragging her gaze up to meet Chris' blue eyes. She suddenly faltered, and furiously felt her cheeks start to burn. "I just feel sorry for him, ya know, if he has an abusive home or summing…"

Chris put on his best 'PC Donaldson is on the job' look, and hm-hmmed importantly.

"Tell you what, Kat, since you seem so concerned, I'll keep an eagle eye on him." He said gently and leaned over the counter.

Kat tilted her head and smiled with pink cheeks. "Thanks, Chris." She whispered. Then she blinked, and shook her head. "Erm…that'll be six pounds exactly." She said in her best saleswoman tone as Gaylene, the owner of Browsers Bookstore, trotted merrily in.

Chris winked conspiratly at her as he grabbed the paper bag and walked out of the shop, the bells over the door tinkling and Kat with an insane smile on her face.

"What are you so happy about today, Katherine dear?" Gaylene chirped as she put her handbag in the back room.

Kat was in a daydream, still smiling. "Ooer, sorry Mrs Collins, what did you just say?" she said innocently.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Chris walked out of the bookstore, thumbs jammed in his pockets, whistling merrily.

PC Thomas Rolleston, the other officer doing the beats with him that day, scowled as Chris emerged.

"Bout time." He said gruffly, and they started walking off down the street. "What did you buy this time?"

Chris shoved the paper bag over into Thomas' hands, who dug around and pulled out a glossy magazine.

"Chris you dunderhead!" Thomas cried, starting to laugh.

"What? I didn't pick up Penthouse by mistake, did I?" Chris moaned, trying to drag the magazine back off Thomas.

"No you nincompoop, you brought this one off 'her' two days ago!" Thomas replied with a snort.

Chris clapped a hand to his head. "Awww dammit! Anyway, I actually found out something interesting today from Kat."

Thomas raised his bushy eyebrows. "Kat? So that's 'her' name, is it?"

Chris ignored that. "She said there's a kid, no, a boy of about fifteen or so who's wandering the main street every day from seven in the morning."

"Causing any trouble?" Thomas shot.

Chris shook his head. "She recommended we check it out for child abuse."

"Should do. Too much of that crap goes on for my liking." Thomas said, nodding.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The boy walked into the library with a smile to the elderly Librarian, who smiled back at him from under half-glasses. He walked around into the Astronomy section, and grabbed the books he was half way through finishing, and then grabbed an adventure paperback novel. Arms full of large Astronomy books, he proceeded to the large leather armchairs in the corner by the window and nestled himself in the furthurest one. Grabbing one, he flicked it to where he had left off and begun to read, pointedly ignoring the girl doing exactly the same thing in the sofa the furthurist away from him.

The Librarian, Mrs Lancaster, looked up from her trolley of books at the two young people curled up on the sofas and refusing to look at each other. She shook her cloud of grey, puffy hair sadly. 

Every day they were in here, apart from on Sundays when the Library opened at ten AM, the boy in the left couch, the girl in the right. Reading intently until about noon, when the boy would leave and then return at four, and the girl would leave half an hour before him, and return about an hour before, still ignoring one another.

Then Mrs. Lancaster would trot over to them at seven PM and inform them that the library was closing and could they please issue their books whenever they were ready.

It was all an act on Mrs. Lancaster's part, and she knew it. The pair never issued books, just earmarked them and put them quietly back on the shelf. But she didn't mind – they were quiet, and friendly if she ever made the effort to make conversation. And they were comforting to have around when the library was empty. Especailly in the evening. 

Still, she felt desperately sorry for them. They both were thin, underfed, and it made her think of her grown-up children and the good start they had in life with a loving mother and father. 

Mrs. Lancaster filed another book away and wheeled her trolley down another aisle.

At about noon, as regular as clockwork, the boy got up from his seat in the sun. He grabbed his pile of books, and made his way up to the counter where old Mrs. Lancaster was serving another person. He waited patiently, and then walked up.

"Would you mind putting these on hold for me?" he asked politely, as he had every day for the whole holidays.

Mrs. Lancaster smiled sweetly back at him.

"Of course, dear." She warbled, and popped them under the counter.

They boy smiled back, and walked out of the library.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He made his way down the steps and back down the street, passing the bookstore with the nice shop assistant who had the copper visiting almost every day. He walked from one end of the main street down into the residential area, and walked for about half an hour until he reached the edge of the park.

Sighing, he traipsed through the trees to the edge of the lake and sat on the side of the little jetty, watching remote controlled boats sail serenely through the still water.

The boats tacked and turned slowly about buoys, sending hardly a ripple into the mirror-like lake. Ducks squawked and children on the playground laughed and screamed. The boy dipped the toe of one of his shoes into the water, and looked up at the azure-blue sky scattered with fluffy, thin white cotton clouds.

Suddenly, there was a scraping sound beside him and a shadow fell over his face. He looked up, confused.

It was the girl from the Library. He leant back, startled, and she sat down right next to him.

She was about the same age he was, and wore a pair of scuffed jeans with a plain black singlet. Her hair was chin-length, chocolate brown sun-bleached to coffee on the top. Her hazel eyes looked at him nervously, and the boy grinned at her without meaning to. With a snub nose and a few freckles, she reminded him oddly of Dennis the Menace.

"What are you doing here?" he asked without thinking.

The girl hesitated, and then started to speak. 

"Erm…well, I though since that we see each other every day all the time, it would be nice if we knew each other's names." She rushed.

The boy looked at her with a closed expression. 

"Okay," he said. "I'm Harry. Who are you?" 

The girl stared at him, and then gave a nervous laugh.

"'Ain't that funny! I'm Harriet."

Harry stared back, and then twisted around to face her.

"Really?"

"Really." she agreed, nodding her head. "Hey, I haven't seen you around. You don't go to Stonewall, do you? she asked quickly.

"No, I go to a private school. Up in Scotland." Harry replied. "So you go to Stonewall, do you?"

"Yeahp. I'm in fifth year, how about you?"

"Same."

An uncomfortable silence settled, Harry looking out onto the lake, but trying to look at Harriet out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly realizing Harriet was doing the same thing, Harry stood up. Harriet looked at him quizzically.

"Where are you going?" she asked, trying to hide the hurt.

"Lunch. D'ya wanna come?" he asked on the spur of the moment.

Harriet grinned and gave her hand to Harry to pull her up.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Old Mrs. Lancaster got the shock of her life when Harry and Harriet walked into the library, chatting away. Sure, they got their books back off the old Librarian, but when they went to resume their usual seats on the sofas, Harry sat on the sofa next to Harriet.

Disbelievingly, Mrs. Lancaster had to go and tell them to be quiet, they were nattering away constantly.

Yet as she walked away, she had to hide her smile of delight.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Kat power-walked quickly down the pavement, cursing herself. Her little hatchback had refused to start, and she was late to open the bookshop. Huffing madly, she turned the corner in the street to see three things that made her heart stop.

Firstly, Gaylene Collins, Kat's boss, stood by the door, with a thunderous look on her face.

Secondly, PC Chris Donaldson was leaning patiently against the window.

Thirdly, the stray boy had a friend.

When Chris came to pay for the packet of pens and the cookbook he had picked up, Kat was still scowling.

"Bloody car wouldn't start." She muttered to his unasked question.

Chris grimaced apologetically. "See your kid has a friend." He said suddenly as Kat put his purchases into a bag. "I've been talking to them." Chris added. "Great kids. Polite, well spoken. Intelligent. They seem happy enough."

"Have you found anything else about them?" Kat asked, desperate for any excuse to keep Chris in the shop.

Chris gave her a brilliant smile. "The boy is Harry Potter, and the girl is Harriet Kennedy. They're both fifteen, but Harriet goes to Stonewall while Harry goes to some private school."

Kat glanced out the window to look at the pair. "But if Harry can afford to go to a private school, what's he doing here at this time of the morning?"

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"So, Harry," Harriet asked Harry as they walked side by side down the road to the park, "how come you go to a private school but you're here on the streets every day?" The question had been annoying Harriet for some time, and she wasn't sure if she was going to get – or if she wanted to hear – the answer.

Harry was quiet for a while, and they walked on in silence, Harriet feeling increasingly awkward with every step they took.

"My parents died when I was little, in a car crash." He said suddenly, and Harriet looked at him with a look of pity on her face.

"Oh gosh Harry, I'm really sorry." She said sincerely.

Harry gave her a lukewarm smile. "Don't be sorry for me, it's not that bad. I don't remember them, so there's nothing for me to miss."

Harriet put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "If you ask me, that even more reason for me to feel sorry for you."

They were both silent until Harry spoke up again. "My parents were quite well off, and they'd met at this private boarding school up in Scotland and they enrolled me when I was born. That's why I go there. When they died, I got placed with my Uncle and Aunt." Harry told Harriet truthfully.

"They hate me though. So I leave every morning before they wake up, and get back when they are asleep. That way I don't make any trouble." He didn't add that Sirius had placed upon his body so many spells Harry felt he could glow in the dark – or that only Muggles could see him, thanks to the Lateo Conspicio charm.

Harriet thought about this for a while.

"So, how about you?" Harry asked. "Where do you go when you leave me at eight PM?"

"Home." Harriet replied, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. "I live with my Mum and my two brothers and sister. I'm the youngest." Harriet took a deep breath. "Dad left when I was about two, and Mum works as a waitress at the Thai Restaurant. Her boyfriend lives with us at the moment, but I don't like being there when he's around. He's horrible. To me and to Mum. He smacks her around."

Harry looked at her, horrified. "Why don't you do something?" he asked her.

Harriet shrugged. "Mum doesn't want me to. So I just clear off. Most of the arguments are about me, anyway."

Harry looked into Harriet's sad face. "I'm sorry for you too."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The Paperboy sped down Privet Drive, expertly reaching into the paper sacks on the carrier of his bike. Grabbing one copy of the 'Early Morning Express' he tucked it under his arm and pedaled down to number 11. As he got closer, he took it firmly in one hand, and hurled it onto the front path of the tidy, redbrick house.

Rolling on, he grabbed another paper from his sacks, and hurled it onto the doorstep of number 7. At least, that's where he meant it to go. Unfortunately his aim was skewed and the paper crashed into the front garden, trapped behind a nasty rose bush. The Paperboy grimaced, but quickly forgot the unfortunate paper and the poor person who would have to retrieve it, and turned his attention to what had distracted him in the first place.

It was that boy from number 12. V & P Dursley's house. Those skinflint bastards who never tipped. But the kid didn't seem that bad. Always a wave and a smile, even though it was ten to six in the morning – too early to be cheerful, really. The Paperboy smiled and waved back at the boy, who was trudging along the pavement. 

Right on the dot, he was. Five fifty AM he was out that door, opening the gate. And if the paperboy hadn't slept in past the alarm clock, they'd meet each other outside number 5.

The Paperboy wondered what sort of summer job he had. Must be crap to have to be out the door at sparrow's fart. It'd better pay well, though. Not like the paper run, it paid peanuts. 

The Paperboy suddenly grinned. Or maybe he's got a girlfriend, he thought, and nearly ran into a white picket fence when he glanced around to see the boy's back.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The old man rummaged around in the bottom of his bread bag for more crumbs to throw to the pigeons. He was an old man, poor and with nothing better to do during the long days of summer but to sit in the park bench under the Oak tree and feed the birds bread. Just sit and watch the world go by. Waiting for his day to come.

Watching to world go by wasn't all too bad, though. 

The pigeons were all known to him – they would sit on his frail hands, cooing softly, searching his long tweed coat for any traces of crumbs. It was a simple way to pass the time, feeding pigeons and watching people. His memory was failing, dripping away, but he could recognize most of the people who regularly walked around the lake, passing his bench. They knew him, too – always a smile and a wave from the joggers and the people in business suits, the young ladies with their babies in pushchairs. He felt privileged to be able to see their progress – from tiny, pink, defenseless caterpillars, to chubby, curious toddlers with rosy cheeks. Then to noisy preschoolers – like sparrows, they were. And then schoolchildren, walking home after school, backpacks as big as their torso. And then, the young teens, dating, wandering in bliss around the park, not aware of nature's beauty, but only of each other. 

The old man gave a sigh – once, long ago, he was one of those people, happy and content, with the future stretched out in front of them. But he'd now reached the end of the yellow brick road, and where had it led? To a solitary bench in a insignificant park, with pigeons as his only companions.

He sighed, and concentrated on other things. Melancholy thoughts were bad for his disposition. He rummaged with stiff fingers into the bottom of his bread bag, and found, to his annoyance, hardly anything left. His face creased with disapointment. There were still plenty more hours in the day, and now he only had a few crusts of bread, his day would be over soon.

Harriet and Harry were both sitting under the Oak tree in the Park, sharing the ham and cheese sandwiches Harry had stolen out of the Dursley's cupboard, and the Thai food Harriet's mother had brought home and put in the fridge the preceding night.

"So," Harry asked thickly, his mouth full of rice, "what sports do you play?"

Harriet was topping up a ham and cheese sandwich with some Thai curry to make an interesting looking meal. "Me? Oh…archery. It's one of the free things they offer at school. They provide the bows and stuff. I wanted to play Netball, but I couldn't afford the shoes. Besides," Harriet added, taking a huge bite of her sandwich, "I'm reasonable at archery anyway, and I suck at Netball. What about you?"

"Oh, just a bit of Football." Harry said. He wished he could say, 'Well, I'm the Quidditch star of the school, the youngest ever player in the school's history and my house team won the Quidditch cup two years ago' but commonsense kept him from bragging.

"What team do you support?" Harriet asked. "I'm Cheltenham, personally."

"Manchester United."

"Hey, I've got a football at home, I'll bring it tomorrow." Harriet exclaimed.

"Cool!" Harry replied with a grin. He wasn't too bad at football, even though he didn't end up playing it that much when he was at school. Dudley had made sure of that.

"What about you mates? Do they play any sports?" Harriet probed slyly. It was a good way of asking about Harry's friends without reing too obvious.

Harry had to think for a while about this one. "Ron…he's my best friend, he's played 'football' for ages, and he's quite good. One of his brothers should have been a national rep, but Charlie went all acedemic instead. Erm…Hermione…I'm sure she _does_ play some sort of sport outside of school, I mean, you can't read books all the time, but I can't think of anything off the top of my head. Oh, wait, no, she plays Hockey. She has a Hockey stick in her trunk. What about your friends?"

Harriet swallowed her sandwich. "Larry plays Rugby, but he isn't very good, Christine plays Netball, and Adele rides horses all the time. Her parents are rich."

"Who's Larry?" Harry asked without thinking. He didn't know why he asked, and couldn't understand why he cared so much.

"Christine's boyfriend. He's pretty neat, for a Rugby player."

"I don't get it. For a Rugby player?" Harry asked, confused.

Harriet stared at him. "You know. Not Rugby-player brawn and no brains."

"Oh yeah." Harry said quickly.

They munched away for a while.

"So, why aren't you hanging out with you friends instead of spending every day with me wandering around town?" Harry asked.

"Adele is in Italy for the holidays, and Christine is in Wales."  
  
"What about Larry?" Harry asked, with a sharper tone than he meant to use.

"I'm friends with Larry, but not that good!" Harriet snapped. "He's Christine's boyfriend, not mine!"

Harry was vaguely aware that he'd said something wrong. He decided to say what he always said when Hermionie was pissed off at him about something he couldn't quite work out.

"Oh, I'm sorry Harriet. I didn't mean to..." He said sincerely.

Harriet sighed audibly. "Forget it."

Harry gave a sly smile. The magic formula had worked again.

"Why aren't you staying with your friends? I mean, wouldn't the Dursleys love to get rid of you if they hate you so much?" Harriet asked, nibbling around the crusts of her sandwich.

"I can't." Harry said heavily. "I'd love to stay with Hermione or Ron over the holidays, like I did last time, but Hermione is over in Canada, and Ron…" Harry thought quickly. "Ron's family are having a bit of a crisis at the moment. I think Mr. and Mrs Weasley are going to break up." _Sorry sorry sorry!_ Harry thought to the Weasleys for slandering their good name.

Harriet pulled a sympathetic face. "Oh, how awful. Having you parents break up is terrible." 

"Having them run out on you, or die, is even worse." Harry pointed out.

Harriet thought about this for a moment. "Perhaps. But anyway, so you are stuck in this hole of a city with nothing to do, no real home to go to, just like me?"

"Yeah. Even though, I hope Ron and his older brothers might take me shopping to get my school stuff a few days before school starts." Harry said jovially. "And then I'll stay with them for the next few days until the Train leaves. I wrote to them a few days ago, so they should get back to me soon."

Harriet's face fell. "Oh. So you are going to go before school starts, then?" She said, trying to remain light-hearted.

Harry shrugged. "Probably."

"Lucky you." Harriet said miserably. "My friends don't get back until the very day before school starts." 

Harriet looked up from where she was spooning Thai food onto another slice of bread, and her eyes narrowed curiously. "Oi Harry! What's he coming over here for?" 

Harry looked around and saw what she was talking about. The old man who usually sat on the bench by the pond – the pigeon man – had gotten up stiffly from his seat and was limping over to where they were sitting.

"Excuse me," he began wheezily, "I couldn't help notice that you weren't eating your crusts, madam."

Harriet looked at the pile of brown crusts sitting at her feet. 

"I was wondering if I would be able to have them. To feed to my birds, you see." He finished slowly.

Harriet smiled broadly at him. "Oh no, that's fine! I was just going to dump them in the bin, so you can have them all." And she scraped all the crusts together and stood up to look the old man in the eye. 

Poor old thing, she thought sadly as she poured the crusts into the old man's bread bag. So old, and so lonely. Hope I never end up like this.

"Harry, are you going to eat any more of that bread?" she asked, and before Harry had answered, grabbed the last few slices from the pile and popped them also into the man's bread collection.

He gave Harriet a slow, simple smile of delight. "Thank you dear." He replied softly.

"Oh that's fine." Harriet gushed. "Have a good day."

The old man nodded as he turned away and shuffled back to his seat by his pigeons, who were waiting expectantly.

"Harriet," Harry asked puzzled, "weren't you going to use those crusts to feed the ducks?"

Harriet shrugged. "Yeah, but I think he's getting more enjoyment out of that bread than I am."

  
The old man carefully ripped up the bread crusts into tiny pieces and held them out in his hand. At once, a crowd of pigeons flew noisily up onto his fist and began pecking at the food. A huge smile spread over the old man's worn, wrinkled face. What nice kids, he thought. 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Kat was rearranging books in the shop window when she spotted PC Chris Donaldson walking down the pavement. Kat skipped back behind the counter and fumbled with her hair, watching out of the corner of her eye for the door to open.

And it did, Chris strolling through, sending the bells above the door tinkling.

"Ullo." Chris said, quickly disappearing behind the magazine rack, trying to compose himself.

Harry and Harriet sat on the bench outside Browser's bookstore, watching the proceedings with interest.

"He _sooooo_ likes her." Harry said into Harriet's ear.

Harriet giggled. "And she _sooooo_ likes him." She replied.

"Didn't realize it was so obvious." A gruff voice from behind them. Both Harry and Harriet jumped.

PC Thomas Rolleston nestled onto the end of the bench, pulling at his moustache. Harriet squirmed uncomfortably away. Harry gave her a quizzical look and turned to smile at the officer.

"Hullo Officer." Harry said courteously, smiling at him. "Yeahp, he should just ask her out and get it over and done with, honestly."

"You reckon?" Thomas said, tugging his moustache thoughtfully.

"Oh yeah. You don't get to see her before he arrived. She's all flitterey and anxious and looking out the windows. She'll go out with him as soon as he asks." Harry said, rolling his eyes.

Thomas grunted, and looked into the bookshop. Chris was fumbling around the magazine counter and Kat was readjusting her skirt nervously. "See what you mean." He said. 

Thomas looked to the side a little to look at their reflection in the window.

There he was, a middle-aged, rather solidly built man wearing a uniform that was getting a little too tight in the waist as time crept by. His hair was thinning rapidly, to his annoyance, and his thick moustache was starting to be infiltrated with white hairs.

Sitting next to him was Harry, dressed in his usual uniform of jeans, hoody and spiky pitch black hair, smiling at the antics of Kat and Chris in the bookstore, his face honest and truthful. Easier than a book to read.

Yet Harriet folded her arms and stared obstinately away from Thomas, her eyebrows narrowed dangerously.

"I'm sure I recognize you. Aren't you one of the Dursley's boys?" Thomas asked, well knowing the answer.

Harry shook his head, a sudden flash of anger clouding his face. "No, I'm not a Dursley. I live with them, have all my life, but I'm not a Dursely. I'm a Potter. Harry Potter."

Thomas grinned and sat up straight. "Well I never. Harry Potter, that skinny little boy from Privet Drive? You've changed a lot, boy! Haven't seen you since you were this high!"

Harry grinned back shyly. "You would not believe how often I hear that." He said wryly.

"Got rid of you glasses, I see." Thomas observed.

At this, Harriet poked her head over Harry's shoulder, curiosity overwhelming her loathing of police officers. "You wear glasses?" she said, enthralled.

To her delight, Harry's ears turned red. "Erm…well…"

"You do!" she cried, punching him in the arm. "Oh, put them on!" she begged, eyes sparkling.

"I can't, I've got contact lenses in." Harry replied weakly.

Harriet spun around and pushed her nose right next to Harry's. 

"Where? Can you see them?" she asked breathlessly, peering right into Harry's emerald pupils.

"Geroff Harriet. You can't see them." He replied, pushing Harriet back. _You can't spot spells,_ He though. _Especially ones Hermionie does._

Harriet looked disappointed, and sat back down.

"Contacts, huh? Expensive, aren't they?" Thomas said sagely.

Harry had no idea. "Oh yes." He agreed, hoping the answer was right.

"But you'd look so cute with glasses!" Harriet moaned, a smile wrapped around her face.

Harry sat up and stared at Harriet. "And you are saying I'm not cute now?" he demanded good-naturedly.

Harriet never had a chance to reply to this tricky question, for at that moment Chris walked out the door of the bookstore, wearing a huge grin.

"Congratulations." Harry said to him.

Chris looked puzzled. "What?"

"For asking her out." Harriet replied.

"But…" Chris was flummoxed. "How did you know…"

"What else would it be, you with that stupid grin plastered over your face?" Harry replied tartly.

"And her dancing around in circles like a lunatic?" Harriet added smugly, pointing to the bookshop window.

Chris looked troubled. "Was it that obvious?" he asked uneasily.

"With the way you two have been acting for the last few months?" Thomas snorted

"Uhhuh."

"Yeah."

"Defiantly."

Chris scratched his head uncertainly. "Ooer. Right then."

"How about we move on the Chris. Leave you girlfriend to do her victory dance in private?" Thomas suggested smartly. Indeed, Kat was still dancing around the bookstore, oblivious to her audience.

Chris went a delightful shade of pink, and Harry, Harriet and Thomas snickered.

"Right. We'll be off then." Chris said shortly, and then turned to Harry. "Won't be seeing you for a while, won't we, with school starting on Monday?"

Harry nodded.

"Good luck, anyway." Chris turned to Harriet. "Be seeing you around, though, Harriet. Have a good rest of the holidays, and stay out of trouble!"

And with that, PC Thomas Rolleston and PC Chris Donaldson resumed the beats, Chris with a swagger in his step.

Harry and Harriet stared after them, both with thoughtful looks on their faces.

"Didn't realize coppers could be so friendly." Harriet whispered to herself.

Harry was thinking of other things. "Harriet," he asked, frowning, "how did they know your name?"

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

As Harriet and Harry were walking down Montague Street at about half past five, Harriet broke off her sentence to stare, openmouthed at the sky above Harry's head.

Harry stared at her for a moment, and then twisted around to see where she was looking.

In the crystal blue skies strung with fat white clouds, there was a small dot flittering low. Harry's stomach gave a sudden lurch as he realized what it was.

"Oh Harry, look! It's an…an…"

"Owl." Harry finished for her in a flat tone.

"Wow, you don't usually see them out during the day!" Harriet was clinging to Harry's sleeve, bouncing up and down and pointing to the white owl that was swooping ever closer.

Harry just bit his lip as the owl suddenly changed tack and veered straight for them.

At the last moment he put out his arm, and the huge, snowy white owl landed heavily but gracefully on it.

Harriet was dumbstruck, her jaw on the pavement.

"Hello Hedwig." Harry whispered to his owl, stroking her soft feathers. "You really _do_ have impeccable timing, don't you?"

"Oh my god Harry. Don't move, whatever you do." Harriet breathed, her eyes as big as the owl's.

Harry paid no attention and worked busily at getting the letter off Hedwig's leg. 

"Here, hold her will you?" he asked Harriet absently, and grabbing her arm, dumped Hedwig onto it.

Harriet was shaking so much Hedwig was having trouble finding balance; but Harry didn't notice – he was engrossed in unrolling the letter and reading it. 

Finishing, he screwed it up and shoveled it into his pocket.

"Right, give her to me," he commanded, and took Hedwig off Harriet, who was dazedly stroking her soft feathers, Hedwig hooting softly. Harry gave her the remains of his muslei bar from his pocket, and then with both hands, threw her up into the air, where she spread her wings and sailed off.

"Harry…" Harriet said, voice quivering, "what was that?"

"An owl." Harry replied. 

"What was an owl doing…"

"Delivering a note." Harry said quickly. "Look, Harriet, sorry but I've got to run. That was from my friend Ron, and said that he's picking me up in about an hour and a bit, so I've got to get home and get packed for school."

Harriet looked at Harry strangely.

"Your'e not an ordinary person, aren't you?" she said slowly.

Harry shrugged. "No."

There was a moment of quiet.

"Hey, I won't see you again for ages." Harry said sadly.

"Give me you address at school, then. I'll write." Harriet suggested.

"Erm…mail doesn't exactly reach my school." Harry said awkwardly. "How about you give me your address? I'll get my owl to drop off letters to you, and when you get them, just tie your reply onto her leg and send her off again."

Harriet looked at him like he was going mad. "An owl? Carrying messages to 41F Davenport Avenue?"

Harry nodded.

"But…but…" Harriet looked around desperately. "It's not a homing pigeon! It can't read addresses! How's it going to find me? This is crazy!"

Harry gave her a sudden, insane grin. 

"Yes, it probably is." He agreed. "I'll get in heaps of trouble for it, but I don't care."

"You are crazy." Harriet declared, eyeing Harry nervously.

Harry shrugged. "If you say so." And leaned forward, and kissed her in an inexperienced teenage fashion.

Harriet hesitated at first, and then gave in, closing her eyes and kissing him awkwardly back. 

Suddenly realizing what he had just done, Harry pulled back, searching for something to say.

Harriet looked at him interestedly, flushing. "So, what was that? A goodbye kiss?"

"Nope." Harry replied, aware that the tips of his ears were a little pink. Racking his brains for something impressive to say, he remembered a few lines he had heard on TV. "Goodbyes are forever. I'll be back." He said proudly.

Harry turned and started running down the pavement, finally looking back before crossing the road.

Harriet stood there, in her torn jeans and t-shirt, hands jammed into her pockets, not bothering to tame her short brown hair that was flicking around into her eyes. As Harry looked, she raised one hand and waved.

"I'll write!" Harry bellowed, and then finally disappeared around the corner.

As he was running, he felt the same insane grin PC Chris Donaldson had worn a few hours earlier spread onto his face.

Well, it hadn't been such a bad summer holiday after all.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Harriet stood on the pavement for a long time after Harry had run off, smiling to herself.

Eventually, she turned and set off down the road to the park by herself. 

__

That was the strangest boy I have ever met. She thought to herself, and slowly started to laugh.

Then she raised her arms into the air and, singing to herself, danced down the pavement, attracting curious stares from onlookers, never realizing that she looked just like Kat the shop assistant had done earlier that morning.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Mrs Kitchens swept a strand of hair off her face and turned her attention from her hedge. She had watched the girl and boy say goodbye when she had taken a break from the laborious work of hedge trimming.

So sweet, she thought. How romance really was when you were that young – awkward and fleeting and experimental. Not at all like that crap you saw on television. Now that was garbage.

She reluctantly picked up her hedge clippers and went back to work, thinking about the innocence of youth and her own, happy, if confused, memories of adolescant summer holiday romances. 


End file.
